And the game went on while the vivace lasted. Up and down bounced the plump Colonel on his chair, kicking with his bright, black-patent toe higher and higher, getting quite enthusiastic over his jig. Rosy and unabashed, he was worthy of the great nation he belonged to. The broad-seated Empire chair showed no signs of giving way. Let him enjoy himself, away there across the yellow Sahara of this silk-panelled salon. Aaron felt quite cheered up.
"Well, now," he thought to himself, "this man is in entire command of a very important branch of the British Service in Italy. We are a great race still."
But Lady Franks must have twigged. Her playing went rather stiff. She came to the end of the vivace movement, and abandoned her piece.
"I always prefer Schumann in his vicace moods," said Aaron.
"Do you?" said Lady Franks. "Oh, I don't know."
It was now the turn of Arthur's wife to sing. Arthur seemed to get further away: if it was possible, for he was at the remotest remote end of the room, near the gallery doors. The Colonel became quite, pensive. The Major's wife eyed the younng woman in white lace, and seemed not to care for lace. Arthur seemed to be trying to push himself backwards through the wall. Lady Franks switched on more lights into the vast and voluminous crystal chandelier which hung like some glory-cloud above the room's centre. And Arthur's wife sang sweet little French songs, and Ye Banks and Braes, and Caro mio ben, which goes without saying: and so on. She had quite a nice voice and was quite adequately trained. Which is enough said. Aaron had all his nerves on edge.
Then he had to play the flute. Arthur strolled upstairs with him, arm-in-arm, where he went to fetch his instrument.
"I find music in the home rather a strain, you know," said Arthur.
"Cruel strain. I quite agree," said Aaron.
"I don't mind it so much in the theatre—or even a concert—where there are a lot of other people to take the edge off—But after a good dinner—"
